Triage
by Lily5
Summary: Missing Scene, New Moon Rising.


TITLE: Triage

AUTHOR: Lily

SPOILERS: New Moon Rising (missing scene)

DISCLAIMER: Not mine.

-----

Xander had driven to the Initiative, but the car was a little crowded on the way back. The addition of Riley and Oz put a strain on the old sedan, even after Spike disappeared back into the woods with a pocket full of cash.

"I'll walk," Willow offered. "Don't worry. I'll meet you at Giles's."

Riley had already gotten into the passenger seat, and Buffy had taken the seat behind him after helping the injured Oz settle into the middle seat. The werewolf had his eyes closed, his jaw locked as the exertion of the escape caught up with him. He probably needed medical care, and waiting around couldn't be doing him any good.

"Don't be silly, Will. There's plenty of room." Buffy squished herself further into the corner of the car, showing that there was indeed enough room for the redhead.

"No, really. I'll walk. I'll meet you there. Just go." Willow waved them off.

"We're in the middle of the woods, Will."

"I'll be fine. I have a stake."

"Will —"

"Go!" Willow interrupted Xander, who had jumped into the conversation trying to help, with a little shout. Oz's eyes fluttered a little and then opened, fixing on the felted ceiling of the car. Willow knew they were a brilliant green, a little darker for the pain, but she didn't let herself fixate on that. Instead, she steadied her voice and stepped forward to push the car door closed. "I said please go. I want to walk. It will be better. It's not that far."

Xander looked at his friend for a long moment before putting the keys in the ignition. He was about to turn them when Oz's soft voice stilled his hand. "Wait." The voice was rough and tired-sounding. Head leaning back on the seat, Oz finally turned to look at the woman standing outside of the car. Through the open window, she could see his eyes reflecting the light of the dashboard back at her and she could hear his scratchy whisper, responding to the fear the others hadn't caught. "It's okay now. You can get in the car."

"Are you sure?" Willow's response was hesitant.

"I'm sure."

"I don't want —"

"I won't change, Willow." Oz reached out and pushed the door open again, weakly. "I promise."

"If it will make it hard..."

"I'd really like it if you'd sit with me, Will." There was something in his voice that was tired in a different way now.

It was hard to make herself close the distance of several feet that Willow had been keeping since Oz began to change back in his holding cell. If anything could make this night worse, an angry werewolf seat-belted into Xander's car might have been it. When Oz only continued to look at her with his dark eyes, she got in the car and pulled on her own seat belt. Xander started the car. Oz still had his head turned sideways, looking steadily at a spot on Willow's cheek. She had always been able to feel him watching her — his eyes on her hands moving across the page as she took notes, her feet tapping as she watched him play, the slow movements of her bare back and arms as he feigned sleep and she dressed for class — and turned to look back at him. Nevertheless, the closeness of his face to hers was a small shock. Even during a whole sleepless night talking to him, she had not seen him this close since before things changed. The soft tap of his eyelashes against his cheek when he blinked was a revelation. She could see how dry his lips were and briefly wondered whether he had gotten any water in the past half a day. He was still looking at her, though. Probably taking in the same details as she was, the freckles that had not changed and the rhythm of her breath against his skin.

Usually this is when we kiss, thought Willow. Usually if Oz is looking at me this way, we actually do a lot more than kiss. Then again, what's usually?

Riley was talking, a little jumpy with the thrill of disobedience. And Oz was blinking again, and his tongue was darting out to moisten those chapped lips. Willow was much more interested in the latter, and it occurred to her that she _could_ kiss him right now. She could and nobody would even think it was strange, because he was Oz and he was hurting and that was what Willows did when Ozes were hurting, they helped rather than making it worse.

Instead, she sighed and breathed his name. The same sort of exasperated tone she took when it was time to stop being funny, but this time the frustration was directed at the world in general. "Oz," again.

Even more pain was clear on his usually stoic face, and Willow wondered if she had in fact made it worse. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"Just rest." She smiled and squeezed his hand quickly, but fought tears after he obeyed and closed his eyes.

-----

Xander parked as close to Giles's as possible. "Is Oz asleep?" he asked Willow, leaning into the back seat.

"Awake and alert," Oz answered for himself. "Or as much as can be expected."

The neighborhood was still dark from the blackout, and the five of them stumbled up the path to the watcher's apartment. Giles answered after the first knock.

"Oz, so glad to see you safe," he said, and then noticed Riley. "And you too. Everyone come in."

"It's dark though! Giles and I made a blackout!" Anya's voice came from somewhere in the main room.

"Actually, I think Riley and I are going to lie low for a little while. The Initiative's not too happy with him right now, and it might not be safe for us to stick together." Buffy explained the plan, which was something Willow must have zoned out for, since it was news to her. The slayer and the fugitive said their goodnights, Buffy gracing Oz with a gentle hug, and walked off into the dark night.

"Do the rest of you want to come in?"

"Actually, I need to sit down. Pretty much now." Oz stuck out a hand to brace himself against the door frame. Leaping to attention, Willow steadied her ex-boyfriend and helped Giles lead him to the couch. A few candles cast a small glow over the room, and she could make out Anya moving toward the door.

"If you don't need us to stay," Xander said, still half outside, "I think we'll do the splitting up thing. Go hide from some people who probably aren't looking for us."

Giles nodded his assent, and Anya shut the door behind her as they left.

"Do you want me to leave?" Willow asked.

"Do you want to leave?" Oz asked.

"No."

"Good."

Willow smiled.

"So," Oz added calmly, "I'm doing a pretty good job of hiding it, but I'm kind of in a lot of pain right now."

Willow was sitting next to him, holding his hand, before she had a chance to think that through. "Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No. Tylenol might be nice. Or something stronger."

"I'll go get some," she offered.

"It's in the bathroom cabinet," Giles called after her.

Alone in the bathroom, in the almost dark of the one candle on the edge of the sink, Willow gave herself time to think about what had happened today. It had started off confusing, but this was much worse. That had _so_ not been how she wanted Oz to find out about Tara and whatever was going on between herself and the other witch. Then the whole wolf attack thing -- not fun. Poor Tara was probably scarred for life. And she couldn't even imagine what Oz had been through, physically and mentally, not to mention emotionally. Willow had been on autopilot Oz-in-danger mode all afternoon and evening. It wasn't a question of how she would analyze her feelings about Oz and Tara, or how she would act on those feelings. The possibility of Oz being hurt had been the subject of many of her nightmares in their days of scoobying, and she had worried about him while he was gone, about his health and whether he was eating right and wearing sunblock. Seeing him hardly able to walk, though, stirred feelings of terror that she had not experienced in a long time. She hurt to see him like that, and even more so to think that she was responsible. She didn't know what that meant. On the other hand, Oz was waiting, and she could think this through later.

Emerging into the main room, Willow saw that Giles had set up the younger man with a steaming cup of tea. And, more than that, Oz had removed his shirt to allow Giles to take a look at his injuries. Willow's heart leapt into her throat, beating rapidly. The purple bruise blooming across his shoulder was grotesque and featured a large open welt at its center. Neither was it the only mark marring his pale chest.

There was something else too. She would not allow herself to think about it, but, after all that time, half-monty Oz was something of distinct interest to her. Tara or not. He had put on some muscle in his treks across the globe, and she found her eyes traveling down his arms to his hands, holding that mug.

Willow cleared her throat. "Your painkillers have arrived."

"Thanks."

She handed them over and Oz popped four. He looked more awake, sitting up a little as Giles surveyed the damage, sipping his tea as it cooled. Still, the bruises were even worse up close. She had no idea what had caused them, but it must have been terrible.

"I don't think you'll need stitches," Giles confirmed, "but you ought to clean up a little to avoid an infection, however sterile the Initiative appears to be. You should be fine once the shock wears off a little."

Oz nodded and hobbled wordlessly to the bathroom. Willow could hear the sink begin to run. She looked at Giles.

"Whatever they did to him..." the watcher began. Willow began to cry, silently and hunched over herself.

Oz stuck his head out of the bathroom door, and Willow was thankful for the low light of the blackout. She didn't want him to worry about her crying. "There are some I can't reach," he said.

"I'll do it." Willow jumped up eagerly, wiping at her eyes. Something to do, some way to contribute would be nice. She went into the bathroom with Oz and closed the door behind her.

He was looking at a particularly bad mark on his chest, just above his heart. Behind him as he stood at the mirror, she could see the smaller red and purple welts across the back of his arm and shoulders. Some had obvious causes — needles casually and cruelly forced, and what looked like it might have been a spinal tap — but others were less clear. She gestured for him to sit on the toilet and picked up the washcloth by the sink. It was already damp, but she let the warm water run over it for a few seconds.

She sat on the floor near him. Her hand on his shoulder, she pressed the damp cloth to a cut on his shoulder blade. Oz winced and hissed air through his teeth.

"Is this okay?"

He nodded.

"And..." Willow hesitated. "And is it okay that I'm the one doing this? If you'd rather I got Giles..."

He turned his head to look at her. "Willow, I'm not going to change."

"I know. But that doesn't mean you wouldn't rather not see me."

"I'd always rather see you, Will."

Willow just smiled and stuck the washcloth back under the water before pressing it to the small blotch at the base of his spine.

"You were crying just now," he said.

"Yeah." It was easier to admit to his back than to his face.

"I'm sorry."

"Why would you be sorry? You didn't do anything wrong. Not on purpose at least."

Oz shrugged and then took a deep breath. "I was so wrong about everything."

"No. Not everything," Willow said softly, watching a bead of water fall sneak below the waistband of his borrowed sweatpants. The little drop veered around an old scar, and she leaned in closer, her nose almost against his bare skin, to examine it. At first she did not remember that particular scar, and she thought she knew all of them. But then: He had been wearing borrowed sweatpants when she had gone to see him before that last terrible night with Veruca, the time he had turned her away. She had felt the scratches on his back then, when she stuck her hands under that ugly Polo shirt. Later, she figured out that Veruca's nails — claws, she corrected herself — had inflicted those raised lines on his otherwise flawless back.

Willow couldn't keep herself from running her fingers over the pale ridge. From farther away it would have been invisible. But up close, even in the candlelight, here was another one. And another. Oz's back stiffened; he knew what she was looking at. He spun on the toilet seat, and suddenly she was kneeling between his knees, looking up at Oz with tears running down her face. His hands were on the sides of her face. She clutched the damp washcloth tightly and drew her eyes away from his. At her eye level, another bruise, right above his navel. She pressed the washcloth to it, and watched his stomach muscles contract at the contact.

"What are these from?"

"Don't remember," he said, and it was in his bedroom voice. She was now sitting up on her knees, elbows propped on his thighs, one hand around his back for balance. One of his hands was still on her face, and now it included a thumb moving gently up and down. She didn't want to make things more complicated, but it was instinctive and she pressed her cheek against his palm, closing her eyes with a sigh.

"You feel better?" Willow mumbled.

"It was worse that getting shot," he joked, "but I'm okay." Eyes still closed, Willow could hear that Oz's face close to hers. So she opened her eyes, and found herself correct.

And then there was his other hand, under her arm, pulling her closer — his chest close to her own, so much so that she could feel the heat radiating off of him even through her cardigan — his breath on her face — his nose doing that cute nuzzley thing — still that thumb, different calluses than before, stroking her face reverently. This was Oz, and now she was kissing him. Willow was pressing herself up against him, scrambling off the floor, her hands running down his chest, over all that new definition and the even newer marks of his injuries.

He was standing, a little shaky on his feet, but insistent as she stepped back to collide with Giles's sink. The first aid kit clanked to the floor, and it briefly crossed Willow's mind that the watcher was right on the other side of the door. Then Oz's hands were on her legs, encouraging her to sit on the sink counter, across from the single candle. Her calves were around his back, and his lips on her neck.

She sighed and he stepped back, eyes fluttering open.

Willow opened her mouth to speak, but his fingers were there first, silencing her. She could see his smile, soft in the candlelight, and watched his eyes moving. She realized he was looking at her, really looking, absorbing the qualities of her face and body that had been inaccessible the previous evening. Her eyes dilated, her quick little breaths, her lips parted and recently kissed. And there must have been something in her eyes that reminded him of what they had had, because he lingered there. Throughout his ordeal, he had remained relatively stolid, but now she thought she saw unshed tears glinting in his eyes. It was too much, and she reached for him again.

His tongue was in her mouth, more assertive than he usually had been, in her experience. His hands were under her shirt, warm on her back and stomach and higher than that. Then his mouth on her cheek and forehead and ears and neck, over her collarbones and shoulders and in the hollow of her neck. Little pecking kisses, fast and flustered. Little kisses with a monologue spaced out between them: "Willow." Kiss. "Willow." Kiss. "So sorry. So, so sorry." Kiss. "Willow." Kiss. "Willow" and "love," and then he was back to her lips, but she was weeping.

He stopped and hugged her to him. Willow hopped off the sink, but stayed wrapped in his arms, letting her tears soak his shoulder.

"How, Oz?" She managed to say, aware that the question was incomplete. How could you leave? How could you leave and come back and kiss me like that? How could you leave and expect me to wait? How could I let myself be kissed? How could I kiss back? How could I not?

But his responses were the same as before: "Willow. Willow, shhh. Willow, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Willow, I love —"

She cut him off with a kiss. He looked hurt, and caught her eyes. "Willow, let me say it."

She waited.

"I love you, Willow. I still."

She smiled and it must have given him some hope that wasn't there before, hope because he had said it and she had not been able to not smile back. Still, when she spoke it was to say, "And this is where I say I love you too, Oz."

"Only if you do," he said, but he was clearly waiting.

"I do. I love you, Oz."

"But?"

"But." She didn't know exactly what the 'but' was. It was there, though. "But so many things, Oz."

"I know. I've known."

"Then why all this?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too. I love you, but." Willow sighed. She was still in his arms, and realized she was still letting her fingers run soothing lines up and down his spine, the way he liked. This she did even as she confirmed that she had not chosen him. "I'm sorry, Oz," she whispered.

"Me too."

"For so much."

"So much could have been different."

"We had so many plans."

"I'll still take you to the zoo. Someday."

That earned a laugh from Willow, and another kiss, salty with her tears. "It's a date," she choked out. "I'll pencil you in under 'someday.'"

"Sounds good."

She kissed him again, and it was slower than before, and gentle, but neither stopped. After all those months of sleeping alone, it was too much to find themselves finally touching. As much as she could tell that her feelings for Tara were real and growing, Willow could not help the fireworks at the thought of Oz so close and so real. Old love, passion, and a sad nostalgia were more than enough, and she found herself pushing him against the cold tiles walls of Giles's bathroom. The candle reached its bottom and went out but they hardly noticed, eyes closed anyway. Willow heard a familiar contented rumble from Oz's throat, and then a strangled wince. She had inadvertently put pressure on a wound.

She jumped away, struggling to see in the light. "Did I hurt you?"

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. Should probably not put pressure on that for a while."

"I didn't mean to..."

"I know. Things got out of hand."

There was a little silence.

"It's dark in here now," she said.

"Yeah."

"We should probably go out there. Kind of strange to just sit in the dark. Giles will be waiting. He might have to pee or something. Did you get all your cuts and stuff?"

"I'm fine."

There was another pause.

"So. Leaving the bathroom now?"

"Yeah."

"Oz, what happened in here..."

"What happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom. Right?"

"I guess so," Willow said. "So do we shake hands now or something?"

"How about a hug?"

Willow smiled. "I'll try not to smush your bruises too hard."

----

Willow and Oz emerged from the bathroom to find Giles tidying the kitchen by candlelight. Picking up his shirt from the couch, the werewolf shrugged it on.

"The candle in there burned out," Willow explained.

"Are you feeling better, Oz?" Giles asked.

"Much. I guess we're done here." Oz turned to Willow, observing her one last time by the candlelight in Giles's living room. "Want a ride back to campus? The van is nearby."

Willow nodded, and then the lights went back on.

"Way to go Sunnydale Municipal Power," Oz said. "Ready to leave?"

"Yeah."

Oz shook Giles's hand. He only said thanks for the rescue and the medicine, but the watcher heard the good-bye in his tone. Giles watched them leave.

FIN.


End file.
